A Rough Ride is now available on Amazon to order – release date set for the 18th September 2014. Hooray!! It’s been a long time coming… but my fingers are crossed that the wait was worth it!!
Who will have the pleasure of training Petal? By rights, the honour should go to Mark Matthews, but the cowboy has other plans. The matter is not settled until the stable owner is brought into the fray.
It is to be a monumental first week for Albrecht’s newest trainee. The pony girl will have two days to find a way of coping with her new latex bodysuit and the rigorous buzzing and pumping of the never-ending ‘device’ which torments her every waking moment. She will then find herself shipped off as a sex-slave, chained and caged, to the mysterious high-bidder from the auction.
It doesn’t take Petal long to realise that her chances of escaping from Albrecht are slim at best, but her defiant nature won’t let her give up hope just yet. There is a way out for her, but she may have to give up more than her sanity in order to achieve it.
Here’s the extended preview, if you’d like something to wet your appetite:
Fight It Out
Mark had already begun to saunter towards his prize. She had directed her delicious gaze into his eyes long enough for him to be called out the winner and he was in a hurry to claim her. Thoughts of her body under his ignited a whole array of brain cells and made his mouth water. At last he could work on getting the little minx out of his system; over a period of several months, of course, or perhaps years if his luck held. The main thing was that he would be getting his hands on the goodies. He had a very potent itch that required immediate scratching.
Holding his stare in place as he moved forward, he noticed her lips twitch. What was the damn fool trying to do now, he wondered? Was she trying to speak? He hoped not, for she’d pay dearly for that folly in front of all these people. Another twitch, a shake of her head and then she dropped a bombshell:
“I want the blond one with the boots.”
Mark had to work to make sure his jaw stayed firmly closed. If he’d heard correctly, and he prayed he hadn’t, the chit had just chosen a complete bastard to complete her training with. She’d already had a taste of pain with the guy, what on earth was she thinking? The woman was nuts. What she’d endured in the training room was small fry for Levison. It would be a matter of hours before he’d decide to try bigger and better things with her body and he would put money on the fact that she wouldn’t like it. So, why choose him? Had he got her all wrong? Was she a die-hard masochist through and through? He didn’t think so. Perhaps she was blinded by pretty-boy’s good looks? There must be another reason. Surely she could not be that shallow. No matter. Thinking fast, he decided to call the auctioneer’s bluff. The rules stated ‘no talking,’ so in his mind, her secondary choice was null and void.
“If you’d be so kind as to hand over her reins,” he politely asked one of the thick-set men behind her, whose eyes were still goggling from the outburst. His comment fell on deaf ears because the giant had just managed to gather his wits about him and grab the vicious looking bamboo cane which was propped up against the corner of the magnolia wall behind him. His meaty wrist swung in a wide arc before Mark’s tensioned fist caught it sharply in mid-air.
“Her reins, gentlemen. I’ll see to her chastisement in just a minute. He released the hand of the monster and eyeballed the guy, who was at least a foot taller than himself, to make sure that his message was correctly received. The cane wavered in big-boy’s hand before he grimaced and reluctantly backed down.
“Not so fast, Matthews,” drawled a voice from behind him. “I don’t think the little pony likes you. No, I don’t think she likes you at all. This must be a first, Matthews. Maybe you’re getting a little too old for this business? A few too many grey hairs?” Kyle laid on his Deep South accent, thick and syrupy. He didn’t want Petal to connect him in any way with the events of yesterday.
Mark turned slowly on his heel and stared at the smug face a couple of metres away from him. He noted that the nose he had smashed his fist through a couple of days ago looked none the worse for wear, unfortunately. If he got the opportunity to break it again, he’d make sure he did the job properly.
“Kyle. Pleasure is all mine. Shouldn’t you be out somewhere herding cattle? Oh yes, that’s right. You’re the only cowboy in the history of the US who doesn’t know how to use a bullwhip.” Ignoring Kyle’s slack jaw, Mark approached the auctioneer and asked for the matter at hand to be clarified.
Matthius was clearly perplexed as to the outcome of the proceedings but not completely stupid. He had money riding on Mark as the victor, but so as not to appear as though he was backing the obvious favourite, he made a show of considering the matter, before bending down over his stand to murmur softly in Mark’s ear.
“Can I just announce you the winner?” The whisper was a conspiratorial one.
“No, you can’t,” said Mark, gritting his teeth, whilst wondering where on earth Albrecht managed to get these people from. “You need to consult the rule book.”
Matthius pursed his lips. He then chewed upon a knuckle and fiddled with his red, silk tie before finally asking, “We have a rule book?”
“Of course we have a rule book. How can you not know that?” Mark resisted the urge to slap his hand across his forehead.
“Well, I’ve been here five years and I’ve never had to use a rule book!”
“Good for you,” said Mark, his dark stare indicating that he was unamused by this knowledge. “Now you do.” He propped both of his elbows upon the ledge of the auctioneer’s podium and tapped his fingers together impatiently.
Matthius scanned the immediate area for any sign of a book. There were a couple of silver ballpoint pens, several sheets of paper with the details of the ponies to be auctioned and his rather crumpled copy of the Daily Mail, from which he had managed to complete approximately half of the ‘quick’ crossword. There was little else underneath the podium bar his feet and he was at a complete loss as to where a book might be stashed. “Assuming there really is a rule book, where might it be hidden?”
“It’s in the drawer directly under your newspaper. Incidentally, 2 across is dive, 10 across is halcyon, 12 down is renegade and 18 across is ether.”
Matthius, who had been working the whole morning to try and discover those words with the aid of an internet connection, was not impressed to have his fun curtailed so abruptly. His eyebrows furling in irritation, he fumbled for the drawer in front of him. Pulling out the slim, red vellum tome, he perused its contents in a brisk fashion. He was beginning to wonder if he should have backed Levison. What on earth was he supposed to be looking for anyway? Noticing that the stares of many of the room’s occupants were now upon him and his ultimate decision, he began flipping through the pages with increased vigour.
“Page 32, ‘if there is a dispute with the outcome of the auction…’ added Mark, after Matthius had been through the book from cover to cover three times.
“Ah, yes, here we are,” said Matthius and clearing his throat delicately with the air of one who knew what he speaking about, even though he didn’t, he began:
“Rule 2.3 states that there will be no speech allowed by any of the auctions ‘equine’ participants and,’ Matthius ran his finger down the page until he came to the next item he was looking for, ‘Rule 3.4 states that the novice shall pick his/her trainer of choice by eye contact alone.” Leaving a delicate pause, he cleared his throat and smiled before announcing, “So I declare that Mark Matthews is indeed the winner.” There was a small smattering of applause.
“I object.” Kyle had his hands on his hips and his voice rang out loudly around the room. His aggressive stance did not go unnoticed by the auctioneer who gave a worried look in Mark’s direction.
“Can he do that?” Matthius’ eyes looked askance at Matthews and all of his previous bluster quickly left him as he scanned the rule book yet again.
“No, he can’t,” said Mark loudly and moved to take Jenny’s reins for the second time. His pony was quivering with rage at having being overruled so abruptly, but it was nothing compared to the anger he felt at her for having nearly jeopardized the outcome of the auction. She was shortly going to feel his displeasure via the bite of his crop and learn the meaning of obedience, so help him God. All his feelings of malice towards his new pet evaporated, however, when her big, blue eyes turned upwards to meet his and he caught sight of the malevolence there, displayed for the world to see. It made him want to get down on his knees and kiss her. So much for having been serviced by the two blondes this morning, he thought. His hormones were once again swimming to the parts that vanilla sex couldn’t reach.
“Yes, he can.” Kyle watched as Mark’s grip descended on the thin leather reins. He winked at Petal and turned to face his opponent.
Mark raised his eyebrow in a bored fashion and waited for whatever rot Kyle was about to spew forth. His annoyance at the delay was more due to the fact that his time with Miss Redcliff would be cut short, rather than any lingering grudge towards Kyle’s previous behaviour. He just wanted to get out of here and… into something tight, wet and juicy.
“Rule 5.6 states that a pony will exercise her own choice with regards to her trainer. She does not want Matthews. She wants me. She chose me and I object to Matthews obtaining her against her will in this one particular decision she is allowed to make.” Kyle looked very pleased with himself.
Mark’s head had tilted to the side in contemplation and by the narrow look he gave his combatant, it was clear he suspected something was amiss. “Since when did you read the Albrecht Auction Handbook from cover to cover?”
Kyle ignored him and directed his next words at Matthius, “Call the Stable owner. There’s a number at the back of the rule book to be used in the case of disputes.” A single finger pushed the rim of his Stetson a little higher up his face, so that he could lavish a glower upon the auctioneer. It was abundantly clear that he was going nowhere until the matter was resolved.
“This is utter nonsense. Untie the pony now!” Mark grabbed Jenny’s reins and demanded that she be released instantly.
“I am not going anywhere with you! I have chosen my trainer.”
Jennifer Redcliff still had an impressive set of lungs, especially when you took into consideration that her lung capacity had been reduced by half due the tight corset she was currently sporting. It took a moment for Mark’s eardrums to clear before he could fully witness the carnage she had wreaked with her last outburst.
The two giants behind her, now infuriated beyond reason, had both reached for their canes and began thrashing the backside before them with a great deal of enthusiasm. Only after a good ten strokes had befallen their victim did one of them pause briefly in his administrations, in order to reattach her bridle and bit to ensure no further outbursts were forthcoming. The remaining occupants of the room then became rather boisterous and animated, having been given a grand show of entertainment that not even they had bargained for. It was simply unheard of for a pony in Albrecht Stables to break the rules in this manner. Excited jeers and clapping began in earnest from the few remaining bystanders. Spirited ponies were a rare beast in Albrecht and when one did make an appearance, the occupants of the stables almost held their breath in glee. Jennifer Redcliff would be the talk of the stables before the day was over.
Mark watched the proceedings with acute disbelief. It was official: the girl was certifiable. He could not help but watch, along with everyone else, as she was given a sound thrashing with the canes. The giants were not particularly gentle with their instruments of torture. They were not used to being thwarted in any shape or form. Biceps rippled, fingers flexed and loud grunts of exertion could be heard as their rods flew everywhere, reflected a thousand times over in the array of ornate mirrors that decorated the room. It was a wonder the Murano chandeliers hadn’t started to sway. Mark felt an urgent need to halt the pair, although he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why.
“Call the owner now, Matthius. Let’s put an end to this dispute.” Mark had to raise his voice to be heard above the din of the zealous spanking and it was something he did very rarely. Things were not going quite as planned and it didn’t happen too often in his world. He was not at all pleased. Watching Miss Redcliff get a good dressing down from the burly black-coverall crew should have had him aroused, but all he wanted to do was stop them in their tracks. He had no problem with her ass getting a sound flogging, but he wanted to be the one to administer it. Watching her face as she tried to slice her teeth through the rubber of her bit, he could only be impressed at the way she held herself taught against her bonds and refused to utter a single sound. How did she have such a high tolerance for pain? Had her earlier sentence in the barn been more than a mere flippant remark? I’ve had worse. She hadn’t answered his question at the time and now he was more than curious about the answer. Had she experienced pain before? She was tightly in control of herself under the pounding canes and while they weren’t hard enough to induce tears, she should have been venting some rather nasty noises about now. She would remain an enigma for the time being, but he intended to get to the bottom of it.
“Enough, gentleman, either myself or Mr Levison might want to admire her ass later and I, for one, don’t want it to be a bruised mess.” Mark regretted his outburst as soon as it had left his lips. Watching Kyle’s smile widen, he hoped to hell that whoever the owner of this stable was, he was prepared to be reasonable.
“Getting squeamish in your old age, Matthews?”
Mark didn’t grace Kyle’s question with a reply. Instead, he watched intently as Matthius picked up his cell and began dialling. There was an anxious look upon the man’s face as his thick-set fingers punched in the numbers and awaited an answer. As he began to apprise the owner of the situation, his brow creased in concentration before finally the cell was removed from his ear and placed gently upon the podium in front of him. The room had become silent once more as the spanking had stopped. Miss Redcliff could be heard panting for breath in the corner, but all eyes were now on Matthius and the outcome of the telephone call. There was an awkward pause as he cleared his throat.
“We are shortly to receive an answer via the intercom so that all present may hear the verdict. Meanwhile, the owner has suggested that the remaining participants amuse themselves by accompanying the pony to the veterinary surgery where she will be given a physical examination and, due to her recent disobedient behaviour, she will be fitted with the ‘device.’ I have it on good authority that it is a spectacle well worth witnessing,” and with that Matthius led the way out of the glittering mirror mass, causing dozens of prisms to refract themselves around the pristine white walls as the crystal face of his watch caught a dazzling ray of sunlight.
Jenny watched the proceedings in miserable silence. Her breathing had now slowed and her head had cleared from the fury of having been expected to fall at Mark Matthews’ feet. Whoever the owner of this godforsaken place was, they had better not give her to him. A fountain pen would be the least of his worries. As one of the incredible hulks behind her began unfastening the ropes and spreader bar which held her legs taught, she could only think of the humiliation that would follow being awarded as Mark’s prize pet, to be trotted around and made to do tricks. Although her backside stung and a fierce wave of heat emanated from the tender flesh, the sensation did little but fuel her ardour and it was all down to that one infernal man. The sooner he was out of the equation the better. At least she’d be able to think clearly and form a sensible escape plan.
The ogres were rough but worked with a speed and agility that belied their size. In no time at all she was free of the rope that had been coiled around her wrists, knees, calves and ankles, but the effects of the rope burn that she had managed to achieve during her orgasm dance would stay with her for a few days to come. Her armbinder, which had been roughly ripped off just before the auction began, was beyond repair and as there didn’t appear to be another in sight, Jenny supposed she could be thankful for small mercies. At this precise moment in time there wasn’t a lot she felt thankful for. Her limbs ached and her jaw felt like someone had driven a transit truck through it. Both mouth and pussy were filled with an unpleasant heat that simmered uncomfortably and the heavy saddle she wore buckled on her back made breathing through her corset even more difficult, if that were possible. When a heavy hand landed on her backside with a smack, she mewled pitifully through her gag.
“Move!” It was apparent that the beefy twins were men of little words. The command was grunted loudly and accompanied by a boot in her sex, so Jenny had little choice but to obey. Stumbling forwards, a stout hand slapped her rump again and squealing loudly, Jenny raced across the room.
Fighting her way through a jungle of meandering legs, she had plenty of time to admire the opulent dress and footwear of her audience. These were people from her world; the world of the rich and famous which housed the powerful, compelling forces of the upper echelons of society. A Gucci stiletto whizzed past her nose followed by a Dolce and Gabbana shoe which took a more leisurely path. From her vantage point of only a few inches above the floor, she watched glossy gold buckles fly past her nose and highly polished leather brogues flirt with leopard-skin Jimmy Choo’s. Was this to be her life from now on? Examining the footwear of the high and mighty? The swish of a long silk skirt brushed over the highly sensitised skin of her back and she shuddered with longing.
“Oh, what a delightful wiggle those ass cheeks have and just look at that tiny tail. Lots of room for improvement, don’t you think? I wonder if she’ll be worth buying after she’s finished her training?” The voice was female and her English was tinged with an Italian accent. Her comment was met with a mumbled reply from her male companion. Walking slowly behind the errant pony, the woman was now examining her attempt to tackle the concrete corridor.
Jenny could feel the eyes of the pair boring into her back. Having forgotten how brutal crawling was on her hands and knees, she was now going as slowly as possible in order to lessen the abrasive impact against her skin. Falling behind the main group quickly, Jenny struggled to keep her hands and knees moving against the cold and unforgiving floor.
“I think Petal needs some encouragement, darling,” said Miss Italy and there was another mumbled reply. The next thing Jenny knew, a pointed heel was being firmly pressed into her left buttock and Miss Italy was putting some considerable weight behind it. Jenny shrieked loudly and darted off up the corridor, uncaring of the rubble underneath her. A few minor scratches were nothing when compared with a five inch heel trying to stab for entrance into an already very tender backside.
“Hmm, pity,” said Miss Italy, her lips forming a delicate moue as Petal raced off ahead. “I was just thinking that the little horsie would make an amazing footstool installed permanently in the centre of our lounge, darling.”
Jenny raced on ahead, not wanting to hear the rest of that particular conversation, and bemoaned the new throbbing pain in her ass cheek. It was obvious who wore the trousers in their relationship, she thought sourly. Darting in between legs once more as she caught up with the main group, she gave no thought to anything bar escaping the pair behind her. Her lungs burned for air but she paid them little attention. She was too intent on trying to listen to Matthius, who was giving his captive audience a taste of what was to come.
“The device is quite possibly one of the worst punishments that can be awarded to a novice pony,” said the auctioneer, turning around to give his spectators a wide smile. “It is a suit of perfectly tailored, form-fitting latex which will hug every curve and contour of the pony-girl’s body. It provides sensory deprivation in many different ways. Her ears can be filled with wax, to ensure she cannot hear a thing. While two small slits will be provided for her eyes to enable walking, an additional black-out blindfold is provided if her trainer wishes to deny her the pleasure of sight. Her mouth will be plugged with a small ball gag, but this can be removed should there be any additional requirements for her mouth.
“And there will be,” drawled a now familiar voice. Laughter bounced off the narrow walls and Jenny felt her throat go dry. Would the cowboy be as demanding as Mark? Would he treat her gently? She cursed herself a thousand times over for thinking such thoughts. She would be rescued. She would! If it took her rescue team a few more days to find her, she’d cope. These people only had her body to amuse themselves with. She still had firm control of her mind; except when she was anywhere near Mark, that was. Please, anyone but him, she begged silently and could only hope that someone somewhere was listening.
“Tiny wires are situated all over the insides of her new catsuit and will pulse electrical current through her body in order to keep her aroused and stimulated. The suit features a special ‘chastity belt’ which will be locked in place automatically and a timer will be set for the duration of forty-eight hours, whereupon the locking mechanism will be released automatically. The chastity belt itself features two dildos which, although initially quite small and comfortable in size, can be inflated, elongated and pulsed within her body. There is a clitoral stimulator which will be fitted with precision around either side of her clitoris and a tiny pincer-like contraption will reside above it. If the internal computer contained within her suit decides she is becoming too aroused, she will received a sharp nip for her troubles and all titillating sensations will cease abruptly. The suit will then decide when to restart its devious ministrations. There might be as much as thirty minutes between near orgasms, or there could be less than five. As you can imagine, little sleep will be achieved in a suit that turns its victim’s body into an orgasmic ticking time-bomb. More laughter echoed around the corridor.
“Can such a suit be purchased from Albrecht? For the use of our own slaves, perhaps?” The gentleman who asked the question was tall, obviously French judging by his accent, and his face was screwed up in fierce concentration.
“I’m not sure,” replied Matthius, who had little to do with the inner dealings of Albrecht, “but for a price, pretty much everything is for sale around here.” He turned his head back over his shoulder and gave an exaggerated, cheeky wink to the spellbound participants.
“Could the suit be worn for extended periods of time? Perhaps five, six or even seven days, Monsieur?”
“That I cannot tell you. But hold on to your questions, ladies and gentlemen, because the vet will probably be able to answer them very shortly.”
Jenny veered well away from Mr France and his unsettling inquiries. She did note that the rather disturbing gentlemen wore a pair of Berluti loafers, easily costing over £400 for the pair and that if he could afford shoes such as those, along with the suspected Valentino suit he wore; a latex catsuit wouldn’t prove too big a problem for his budget. All this talk of restrictive clothing and denied orgasms was making her hungry again and it wasn’t for food. The menu at Albrecht had already put her off fruit and vegetables for life…
“Our little pony is lagging behind again, Giles. I think she’s heard a little too much. Perhaps we should give her an added incentive to get her ass moving?” Jenny’s head swung around awkwardly to discover the whereabouts of the new voice, this time of thoroughbred English descent. A gentleman in his late fifties smiled lecherously back at her. “I think your right, Crawford,” said his purring companion who was also male, but of much younger years, “or we may have to wait until Christmas to see this ‘device.’ After a few seconds of high-pitched laughter, Jenny discovered something slim, smooth and made of leather being run up her inner thigh. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to guess what the man was waving around and she surged forward to avoid its exploratory path.
Unfortunately, the crop appeared to move with her and it quickly reached higher, probing for entry at her slippery sex. Jenny swung left to avoid its path and was rewarded with more laughter. She did not manage to avoid its path a second time. A loud smacking sound could be heard as the tip of the crop caught her left buttock. Jenny wailed as best she was able through her thick rubber bit. Although it had been little more than a light tap, the pain was maddening after her buttocks had been cruelly ravaged by the canes. Thinking it wise not to allow the crop another attempt to rest upon her poor ass cheeks, she fled through the ranks and was somewhat surprised when Matthius left the confines of the building and continued walking out into the open. Where on earth were they going?
When her knees hit grass, Jenny contemplated the thought of getting up on all fours and making a run for it. The idea soon manifested itself as ridiculous in her brain. She knew without a doubt that Mark, Kyle and possibly Matthius would be fast enough to catch her and the electrified fence was still in place. All she would be doing would be inviting further punishments upon her body and it looked like she already had enough to cope with in that department. Erasing the thought of escape from her mind for now, she appreciated the cool dirt beneath her hands and knees. Never in her life had she thought she might enjoy the rigors of crawling through mud and muck, but oh how times had changed. Right now, she would love to immerse her steaming backside in a pile of gooey mud and wiggle about in it to the best of her ability. She burned and she hungered; next she’d be begging to stay. Trying to oust the annoying thought from her head, she became increasingly annoyed when it refused to budge.
“And here we are ladies and gentlemen,” said Matthius, stopping outside a rather unremarkable outbuilding built of red brick with corresponding red slate tiles. As per nearly all the buildings in Albrecht, its entrance was through a double set of brightly painted, white timber doors. When they opened they revealed a man in a white coat and various surgical contraptions that did not look welcoming. She would have immediately retreated backwards, but the spectators had all formed a semi-circle around her, effectively blocking any departure.
“If you’d like to file around either side of the ‘breeding station,’ which we will use for her preliminary examination, I think all of you will manage to achieve quite a good view from that perspective.” Those were Matthius’ ominous last words as she was driven forwards by a dozen or so pairs of moving feet.
The first thing Jenny noticed upon entering the new building was that the floors were made of sparkling white marble, a thin vein of grey running through each impressively sized slab. It was amazing what you noticed when your head was only inches from the floor. The smell of antiseptic and bleach was fresh upon the tiles and it was obvious that they had been recently cleaned. Her face was reluctant to stretch itself to examine higher objects, but in the end she decided it was better to have some idea of what might be about to happen to her.
Finally, lifting her eyes off the floor and straining to look upwards in her tight leather collar she immediately wished she had kept her nose down. Directly in front of her was the young man she had spied earlier. Dressed in a lab coat, which revealed a neatly ironed blue shirt beneath, she placed him somewhere in his thirties. He sported a stethoscope around his neck and a pair of silver, stainless steel forceps hung over the single pocket upon his breast. Of slim build, he wore rimless glasses delicately balanced upon his roman nose and generated a somewhat bookish and geeky look. Looking down at her in a detached manner, he beckoned her forward.
Jenny did not move an inch. She had spotted a T-shaped, wooden contraption in the middle of the room and if that wasn’t frightening enough, there were an array of microscopes and buzzing machines stowed in the far corner, along with a table that was filled with scalpels, syringes and all other manner of paraphernalia that she was unable to put a name to. Spying clamps, pins, needles, thermometers and electric trimmers, her heart rate pounded into emergency mode. She wanted to run out of the door as fast as her legs would carry her but Mark, as usual, was one step ahead of her.
“You can’t run when someone is holding your bridle.” He spoke gently, but firmly and his fist gripped the thin leather of her reins tightly.
The scrabble of her back legs against the marble stopped, but her whole body rebelled at the thought of being forced to play their naughty games in such a way. This was too much. They had crossed the line. Hell, no, they had crossed the line about three seconds after she’d entered the tack room two days ago, but it wasn’t as if she could voice her complaints. Mark lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “You’ll give them exactly what they want if you kick and scream now. Two days with the device and a trip to the dungeon would probably be more than most trained submissives could manage. If I were you, I’d go up to the Vet and offer your body for his inspection. Do the exact opposite of what they’re expecting, Princess, and keep them on their toes.” Winking at her, he used the rough ends of her leather bridle to caress her cheek before stepping back to the outer circle of gathered guests, but his penetrating eyes remained trained on her face.
The vet, who had been moving some instruments about on his table and preparing for his examination whilst Mark had given his brief pep-talk, now appeared satisfied with his work. Turning around to face his new patient once more, he repeated the action of beckoning her forward with the crook of his finger. “Just wait on your knees beside the breeding station. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
His words did not decrease Jenny’s anxiety in the least, but knowing there was little hope of escape with so many people watching her, she decided that Mark’s advice was the only sensible course of action. Crawling slowly up to the ‘breeding station,’ the words alone causing a shudder to ripple through her body, she awaited the attentions of the vet meekly, her heart banging painfully inside her rib cage.
Quickly unbuckling the heavy leather saddle from her midriff, the vet patted her head and muttered, ‘Good girl.’ Then he produced a pair of thick, black leather cuffs for her wrists and elbows, and folded her arms up her back towards her neck, fastening the cuffs closed as he did so. There was a metal chain that linked each cuff together and this was attached to the rear D-ring in her white collar by means of a large karabiner. It was even more uncomfortable than the arm-binder had been, and Jenny noted ruefully that she was once again an object to be toyed and played with. “Stand up,” said the vet, hoisting her up by the waist so she had little choice in the matter. He led her over to the wooden frame and began to feed her head and upper body through a small rectangular opening in the top. Her stomach now rested on a square plate and her upper body was tipped forward over the fame whilst her backside was pushed up and outwards. Her knees were forced down towards the ground and a spreader bar was once again quickly fastened around her ankles, leaving her sex wide open and on display for the amusement of the many bystanders. Then, a long rectangular panel positioned directly above was drawn down upon her back and she felt the pressure of the wood graze the tips of her elbows. The clamp held her body tightly in place. It appeared that he didn’t want much patient participation, Jenny thought, growling around her bit. The sound drew amused laughter from the crowd.
“They said she was feisty,” sneered Miss Italy, “but I wonder how feisty she’ll remain in this ‘device.’” Her comment drew a few sniggers from the people around her, who were avidly looking around the room to discern the methods of torture and torment that might soon be doled out to the hapless pony-girl. Jenny noticed, with some trepidation, that there was not a kind or sympathetic glance amongst them, with the exception of Matthews perhaps, and she did not want to look in his direction to find out.
The vet simply raised his eyebrows in reply, before clapping his hands together to gather the attention of the group. “OK, ladies and gentlemen. I’m going to talk you through what you are about to witness in our surgery. The frame that Petal is currently restrained upon is called a ‘breeding frame’ because that is how our mares are restrained before we have one of the stallions cover them. It’s an effective piece of equipment, because the mare cannot collapse her body against it or stand up. She can stay in this position, reasonably comfortably, until such time as you are confident that your stallion has performed his duty.” He looked around to ascertain that there were a few nods being directed his way before he continued, “Today, the frame is just a convenient way to secure her body whilst we do a dental exam and brief physical. She will also be fitted with a RFID tag, to enable us to accurately track her whereabouts at all times within a position of several hundred metres. We will end our session by securing her in a very special latex catsuit that will test Petal’s endurance, over the next few days, to the absolute limit. Are there any questions before we start?”
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